Not like this
by otherhawk
Summary: Updated! Hawkeye has been shot and Frank did it. Can the 4077 ever get back to normal?
1. Chapter 1

Look, look, its reformatted! I finally got round to it!  
  
Cast of thousands: Yay you.  
  
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It had been a long day. Hawkeye Pierce stumbled back to the swamp, poured a glass of martini, kicked off his boots and fell on to his cot.  
  
Trapper looked up from the letter he was writing. "Rough shift?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah, just two patients, but one of them had a really bad leg wound. Couldn't do anything except amputate. He couldn't have been any more than eighteen." Trapper looked sympathetic. Hawkeye drained his glass.  
  
"I'm going to sleep for a week." He announced "Then I want you to wake me up so I can take a quick nap before I get down to some serious napping."  
  
"Right pal. Just remember we've got a poker game tomorrow. Sidney's coming." Trapper said, turning back to his letter.  
  
Just then Radar came running in. "Choppers sirs, loaded with casualties, fifteen minutes at the most." He ran out again immediately, on seeing the doctors were awake and moving.  
  
"You know I'm beginning to think that this war - sorry police action has some personal objection to me sleeping," grumbled Hawkeye pulling on his boots again.  
  
"Now that is definite paranoia. Very interesting." Trapper's imitation of Freud was terrible. "Keep that up and you might get sent for some R and R - accompanied by your personal physician of course."  
  
"In your, my and or our dreams. In the meantime someone has gone to the trouble of providing us with patients, so we'd better operate."  
  
Later, in the OR things proceeded as normal. Henry Blake was flirting unsuccessfully with a nurse while operating successfully on a marine.  
  
Hawkeye and Trapper were in the middle of a chest case and were having an apparently serious conversation about the need for a new filter for the still.  
  
And Frank Burns was fussing in front of a patient. "Lieutenant Bayliss, what do you call this?" he demanded.  
  
Trapper looked up. "That's a scalpel Frank."  
  
"And the thing in front of you is a patient." Hawkeye joined in.  
  
"Oh shut up you two. I didn't want a clamp, nurse."  
  
"But you asked for one sir."  
  
"That's no excuse for incompetence."  
  
"Well, how do you normally excuse your incompetence Frank?" Hawkeye enquired, then quickly turned back to his own patient "Metzenbaum scissors."  
  
"Pierce I'm going to file insubordination charges if you keep this up."  
  
Hawkeye looked at Trapper "Must be Friday." He observed.  
  
"Pipe down people" Henry ordered and for a while everything was quiet.  
  
"Oh rats" Frank exclaimed.  
  
Hawkeye looked up in time to see a fountain of blood gush up from the Major's patient. "Trapper can you finish?" he asked urgently and at the nod dashed over and took over from Frank, operating quickly and efficiently, saving the patients life.  
  
"Next time stick to horses ok Frank?"  
  
"I'd like to know what right you have to take over from me." Frank blustered "I was managing perfectly fine until you butted in."  
  
"Firstly no you weren't, secondly I am chief surgeon and thirdly your fly is undone"  
  
Frank looked before he could stop himself. Hawkeye smirked and moved off.  
  
"This war would go a lot better if someone shot him." Burns remarked, not very sotto voce.  
  
After eight hours of surgery, Trapper - Hawkeye had gone to check on some x rays - wandered into the mess tent in search of food. As ever he was disappointed. He sat down at table next to Radar. Henry sat across from them, nodding off into the suspected mashed potato.  
  
Radar began shovelling food into his mouth. Trapper prodded it to see if it would move of its own accord, then shrugged and began eating. The door opened and he looked up to see Majors Burns and Houlihan enter. They were deliberately walking a certain distance apart but that wasn't what caught Trapper's attention  
  
"Frank, what's with the gun?" he demanded.  
  
"I just read a report that said there are snipers in the area and I'm certainly not going to take any chances."  
  
"Major Burns is perfectly right to carry a gun." Margaret announced. "After all, we are in a battlezone."  
  
"No, we're in a mess tent." Trapper shot back. "The only thing dangerous in here, until Frank showed up anyway, is the food."  
  
"Why can't you understand that this is war! And that in war you must be prepared to fight or die!" Frank flourished his gun dramatically. But he hadn't got the safety catch on and it went off.  
  
Everyone jumped and a couple of the nurses - and Frank himself - screamed. There was a couple of seconds silence and then everyone started talking at once. Henry Blake had sat bolt upright at the sound of the shot, now he stood up and removed the gun.  
  
"Major, what the hell do you think your doing?" he demanded angrily. "You can't carry a gun in the mess tent and you certainly can't fire it."  
  
"Yeah Frank, one of these days you're going to kill someone" Trapper interjected. He was getting worked up to rave at Frank for a long time but a quiet voice stopped him.  
  
"Trapper." There was something about the tone, shocked, confused and urgent. He turned and saw Hawkeye, looking very pale in the door of the tent, a red stain spreading across his T-shirt.  
  
Their eyes met and Hawk fell gently forwards. 


	2. Chapter 2

While everyone else was frozen, Trapper ran forward and caught Hawkeye before he hit the ground and lowered him gently downwards. The blood was soaking through the shirt, and he started to pull it away. "Hey," Hawk said weakly "They're gonna charge me for that at the laundrette."  
  
"Ambulance!" Henry yelled, then ran and knelt next to Trapper.  
  
"Its ok, just put it on my account" Trapper said absently in reply to Hawkeye's joke. He looked at the wound. It was low down on Hawkeye's chest. It looked bad. He pulled off his shirt and used it to try to stop the bleeding.  
  
"My Dad always said a true friend would give you the shirt off his back. Do you think this is what he meant?"  
  
"Yeah Hawk, I'm sure you getting shot in a mess tent is exactly what he had in mind. Why isn't there a first aid kit in this mess tent!"  
  
"Foods never been that bad." Hawk said. He grinned slightly. Then he moaned. "Hurts."  
  
"Take it easy Pierce, it's going to be ok." Henry said, but he exchanged a worried glance with Trapper. Radar came running in with a couple of orderlies and a stretcher. They got Hawkeye onto it, but the act of moving him made him lose consciousness. As they brought him to the OR there was a tense silence.  
  
"I'll operate, you assist right?" Trapper said abruptly as he and Henry got scrubbed up. Henry nodded.  
  
"So much for the Hippocratic oath I guess." Neither of them was ready to face what had happened, they were just concentrating on the present moment.  
  
They went into the operating room. Hawkeye was conscious again, though Ugly John was there ready to put him under. He looked paler than usual though it was hard to tell under his moustache. Margaret Houlihan was also there, looking shocked but efficient, no mean feat.  
  
Trapper looked down at his friend, lying on the table and had the absurd thought that Hawkeye would just get up and tell him that it had all been a practical joke he and Frank had cooked up. The thought of Hawkeye and Frank cooperating almost brought a smile to his face. But not quite.  
  
"Trap."  
  
His name brought him back to the present. Hawkeye's voice. Too soft.  
  
"Trap I need you to promise me something." Trapper wondered, in a split second what it could possibly be? He'd promised Hawk that he'd write his father if anything happened a long time ago. The night they'd finished the still actually. The twelfth night they'd been in Korea. The only night they'd ever really got totally and utterly blind drunk. In between pledging eternal friendship (to each other, to the still, to several passing women and the skeleton in Henry's office) they'd promised to tell each others families if. if was as far as they'd ever got. Some things shouldn't be said aloud.  
  
"Anything Hawk, name it." He answered.  
  
"I want you to send a telegram to President Truman, reporting a hole and demanding a refund." This was said with unexpected strength and conviction.  
  
Hawkeye smiled beatifically at Trapper and Henry, who both stood there with their mouths open under their masks. Ugly John shrugged and put him under.  
  
Radar hovered between his office and the window of the operating room. He wanted desperately to go in just to be there, but he was terrified that he might distract the surgeons.  
  
The off duty base personnel clustered around the entrance to post op waiting for news. People on duty kept looking at the tannoy, willing it to make an announcement. Everyone spoke in hushed tones, when they spoke at all.  
  
And in the mess tent, unseen and somehow forgotten Frank sat in the corner, rocking back and forth, staring at nothing. 


	3. Chapter 3

Hey, sorry this story's taken a while. I keep getting distracted, by uni work, by other story ideas, by alcohol and by fluorescent ducks. One of these is a lie. Can you spot it? Anyway, I'll try to update more regularly from now on.  
  
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Trapper looked down at Haw .. at the patient. The patient. It seemed easier when he told himself that it wasn't Hawkeye, it wasn't his friend he was cutting into. Wasn't his friend lying, bleeding on the table. Just another soldier, brought into OR. Right. That was all. Just had to do his very best for the guy.  
  
"Its pretty bad." Henry said. There was an edge in his voice.  
  
Trapper simply grunted in reply. Then said "Retract that."  
  
"What? Oh right."  
  
They continued in silence.  
  
Margaret watched the two doctors work and tried to anticipate whatever they might ask for. To her experienced eye, the operation seemed to be going quite well. But it was very slow, and it was really too early to tell. And both men had been exhausted before the .. incident and were surely now in a state of shock.  
  
Even now she couldn't believe what had happened. Frank - that stupid, careless idiotic excuse for a doctor - had shot Hawkeye. She didn't really like Pierce anymore than Frank did, but she couldn't bear to see him lying hurt like that. And she couldn't believe that Frank was the one responsible. She knew it was an accident, but still, it was .. unforgivable.  
  
She handed Colonel Blake a clamp an instant before he asked for it and forgot everything she was thinking about except the operation.  
  
Henry Blake stood operating on his chief surgeon and wondered for the thousand and tenth time if other commanding officers had as many problems as he had. Like Trapper he was doing his best to keep his mind off of exactly who he was operating on while still working as efficiently as he ever had in his entire career. He pondered - briefly - the likelihood of there being any forms that dealt with the ranking surgeon of a MASH unit shooting the chief surgeon. This was the army, he supposed it was always possible. Radar would know. He could ask him after .. after. Instantly Henry returned to the present, refocusing exclusively on the operation.  
  
Radar had stopped hovering outside the OR, because it had seemed so hot and stuffy in there that he had been afraid he might faint. He'd gone outside and found Corporal Klinger (dressed in what looked suspiciously like a ballerina's tutu) who was officially on guard duty. In truth, Klinger, like most of the rest of the camp, was simply standing around despondently, waiting for news. Neither man had said a word, they simply nodded to acknowledge each other and had stood, next to the sign post keeping the vigil.  
  
About two hours into the operation the sound of a jeep approaching camp could be heard. Klinger and Radar exchanged glances, then, as it pulled into sight and came to a stop, walked over. Doctor Sidney Freedman and Father Mulcahy got out. They didn't immediately pick up on the tension in the camp.  
  
"Good afternoon there" Father Mulcahy beamed, nodding to both corporals. "I actually missed this place while I was on leave. Doctor Freedman was kind enough to give me a lift back."  
  
"Hiya Radar. Klinger, you're wearing a pink tutu with a lime green sweater. That is crazy. But still not good enough."  
  
There was no reply to either greeting. The newcomers grew worried.  
  
"What's wrong?" Sidney asked.  
  
"Oh, its terrible!" Radar suddenly blurted out. Tears ran unchecked down his cheeks.  
  
Seriously alarmed, Father Mulcahy said "Calm yourself my son. What's happened?"  
  
Seeing that Radar was unable to answer Klinger said simply. "Hawkeye's been shot."  
  
"WHAT? How?"  
  
"Is it serious?"  
  
"It was in the mess tent. Major Burns .. " Klinger gulped. "And we don't know yet. Trapper, I mean Captain Macintyre and Colonel Blake are operating."  
  
"It looked real bad." Radar said softly. "There was a lot of blood."  
  
Father Mulcahy ran towards the OR. Radar followed him.  
  
"You said Major Burns .. you mean FRANK shot Hawkeye? Why? Where is he?" Sidney asked.  
  
"He shot Hawk." Klinger confirmed. "It was an accident, I guess." A slightly strange look passed over his face. "I don't know where he is. I haven't seen him since it happened. No one gave any orders about him. He could be anywhere."  
  
Back in the operating room, Henry and Margaret looked up when Father Mulcahy ran in, followed by Radar. Trapper did not. Seeing the Father scrub up and enter had given Radar the courage to do the same. He could stay out of the way.  
  
"How is he?" the Father asked.  
  
There was a pause, then realising Trapper wasn't about to answer, Henry said.  
  
"He's going to be ok. The bullet tore an artery but it didn't do as much damage as we thought at first."  
  
"Thank heavens."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Silence reigned once again, until it came time to close him up. Then, relaxing slightly and noticing something as he looked at his patient Henry said;  
  
"You know, Pierce is really skinny. We should get the nurses to feed him up a bit while he's recuperating."  
  
He was taken aback at the strange intensity of the look that Trapper gave him, but after a second the other doctor seemed to relax too.  
  
"Yeah. He'd love that." He smiled down at the unconscious man.  
  
"He's going to be alright Trapper."  
  
"I know." A pause. "I think that's probably the most scared I've ever been in my life."  
  
"Its over." Henry said gently. "Come on, I'll buy you a drink in my office."  
  
Trapper shook his head. "No, I've got something to do first."  
  
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Author rambles: Reviews!! Must . have .. reviews. I'll try and update this soon. Once I work out where Frank is. Yep, I don't know either. Damn the man. I do have a plan for this, but there seems to be a slight hole in it. 


	4. Chapter 4

Hey, sorry I haven't updated for a while. Guess what, I still don't own MASH or any characters or settings therein.  
  
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Trapper wandered out of the operating room, more exhausted than he had ever been in his life. He stopped at Radar's off ice but the corporal wasn't there. No matter. He could try later. In the meantime a drink sounded good. He remembered Hawkeye telling him that on bad days he could hear the still calling to him from all the way inside the OR. Trapper knew exactly what his friend had meant now.  
  
He found himself in the swamp, with no memory of walking there. He poured a drink. Drank it. Poured another. His eyes were somehow drawn to Hawkeye's bunk. Messy and unoccupied.  
  
"You could have been packing up all of his stuff right now." A voice whispered inside his head. "Packing it and sending it back to his Dad with a letter that didn't really say anything and wouldn't really help."  
  
No. It hadn't happened. Hawkeye would be fine. He finished the new drink that had somehow found its way into his hand. Funny, this stuff was beginning to taste good. It had never used to. They had simply tolerated it and made bad jokes about it. He wondered if he'd be able to go back to drinking real gin after the war. After the war. Strange concept. Sometimes, there wasn't any after-the-war or even before-the-war. There was just what there was. Hawkeye and Trapper and Henry and Margaret and the rest of the nurses, yes and Radar too, against it. Trapper wasn't totally sure what IT was. The war, certainly, well most of them. Maybe not Margaret. Casualties perhaps, but that was there word. Hawkeye didn't see casualties. Hawkeye saw people. And now he was one himself. Casualty. Person.  
  
But he would be alright, so there was no real need for Trapper to be sitting here, on Hawk's bunk (how had that happened?) drinking more of this damned paintstripper. There was Frank too. He'd forgotten Frank in his list of who 'we' were. But Frank couldn't be with them. He had shot Hawkeye. He had shot him, and if the bullet had hit an inch in any direction, then Trapper would have been packing up all Hawkeye's belongings and writing that useless letter. Frank was dangerous. He finished his glass. They had always said so, always joked about it and now it was obvious. The Ferret Face had even said earlier that day (that day? Or was it yesterday now, or last week or last year? Who knew?) that he wished someone would shoot Hawkeye. Well, now he had, and Trapper could just imagine how satisfied he was. Yes, Frank had to be dealt with. But there was something else he had to do first. He had promised.  
  
Trapper stood up and, unsteadily, walked out of the swamp and headed for Radar's office. The kid was in this time, filling out forms. He looked up to see Trapper come in.  
  
"Hiya Captain Macintyre! Isn't it great about Hawkeye? That he's going to be ok I mean. Everyone was real worried."  
  
Trapper nodded and sat, or more accurately slumped, on Radar's desk.  
  
"Say, are you alright?"  
  
Trapper thought for a moment. "Yes." He decided. "Hawk's ok, so I must be too."  
  
Radar looked worried. "You shouldn't have had to operate on him. "  
  
"If I didn't, then who?" Trapper asked loudly, waving his arms. Then he added, softly. "He shouldn't have had to be operated on." Radar didn't answer that.  
  
"Anyway," Trapper said, standing up. "I came in here because I want to send a telegram."  
  
"Alright," Radar nodded. "I can do that." He got the equipment ready.  
  
Trapper paced up and down.  
  
"To President Harry S. Truman, White House." He began.  
  
Radar looked round at him. "Uh, are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked nervously. "Last time I did this, General Clayton nearly ended up being pulled to North Korea in a latrine."  
  
Trapper smiled slightly at the memory. "I promised Hawk." He answered simply. "If you're worried, you can tell Henry or whoever that I ordered you to do it."  
  
"Couldn't you actually order me to do it?"  
  
Trapper just looked at him in response.  
  
"OK, OK." Radar got ready for the rest of the telegram.  
  
"Dear Harry. On behalf of a friend and colleague, I wish to report a hole and demand a refund. Yours truly, an unwilling participant. Got that?"  
  
Radar nodded. "It's sent. Uh Captain?"  
  
Trapper looked over at him. "What?"  
  
"I think you should really get some sleep."  
  
"Not yet." Trapper said, to himself as much as to Radar.  
  
He walked into post op, and stood, looking down at Hawkeye until one of the nurses - funny, he couldn't remember her name - chased him out.  
  
"He won't wake up for at least five more hours. You know that. So why don't you go and grab a couple of hours sleep now and you can be here when he wakes up." Her tone was sympathetic, but unyielding. When he tried to protest, she threatened to send for Henry and have him sedated. So he left, with one last glance back at Hawkeye. Odd, to see him so still.  
  
Trapper did, in fact, desperately want to sleep, but there was still something he had to do first.  
  
"Now," he thought. "If I was a homicidal, incompetent, ferret-faced excuse for a doctor, where would I be?" He couldn't answer his own question, so he headed back to the Swamp for liquid inspiration and in the vague hope that Frank would be there.  
  
He wasn't. But Sidney was there, sitting on Trapper's bunk, staring at Hawkeye's.  
  
"Hiya Sid. What're you doing here?"  
  
"I came for the poker game. Stayed for the shock victims."  
  
"Ah. Want a drink?" Trapper attempted to pour but kept missing the glass. Sidney took over and poured two, fairly small, glasses.  
  
"Have you seen him?" slurred Trapper.  
  
Sidney raised is eyebrows. "Hawkeye?"  
  
"No. Hawkeye's unconscious, and they wouldn't let me stay with him. I meant Frank."  
  
"No-one has. He's vanished. I got Colonel Blake to send out the MPs after him. Why do you want him?"  
  
"He's got to be stopped."  
  
Sidney paused. "From what I hear, it was a complete accident."  
  
Trapper shook his head. "It was still Frank's fault. What's he doing with a gun in a war? Don't we get enough bleeding people for him? And he's always hated Hawkeye."  
  
Sidney was about to answer when both of them were distracted by a commotion from outside. They got up simultaneously and headed for the door, in time to see Frank being marched past by two MPs.  
  
With a shout, Trapper ran, somewhat haphazardly, after them. He stood in front of them, blocking their way. A crowd was gathering. Both Henry and Sidney were running towards him, shouting something.  
  
The MPs eyed him nervously. Frank showed no sign of recognition, just stared straight ahead, glassy eyed.  
  
"Sir" one of them began. But at that moment, Trapper, with all his strength, hit Frank Burns in the jaw. Frank went straight down, dragging the MPs with him.  
  
Trapper looked around uncertainly, swaying slightly. The whole camp was watching. Finally, Trapper crumpled to the ground, passed out.  
  
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This story welcomes careful reviewers. 


	5. Chapter 5

Colonel Henry Blake was in post op, trying to decide if he had ever had a worse day then this one. All three of his fellow surgeons were now unconscious; Trapper in the swamp from where Henry was awaiting news of the hangover to end all hangovers; Frank under guard, although it didn't seem likely that he would be waking up any time soon - that had been one hell of a punch, and McIntyre hadn't even had to use ether. And Hawkeye, lying over there.  
  
"God help us if we get any casualties." He said aloud.  
  
He hadn't noticed that Radar was beside him. "There are none expected, sir." He said, then added "Although that doesn't always mean anything." at the same time as Henry said  
  
"Since when has that meant anything?" They looked at each other for a second, then Radar turned back to filling out forms that Henry didn't understand; not that that was going to stop him from signing them.  
  
Suddenly a voice rang out from behind them, Nurse Banks' voice to be exact.  
  
"No, Captain, you need to stay lying down. Colonel!"  
  
Henry whirled round quickly and saw the nurse by Hawkeye's bed, her hands on his shoulders. He ran over.  
  
"Pierce, what are you trying to do? Rip out those stitches?"  
  
Hawkeye blinked up at him, but seemed to relax. "I thought I'd fallen asleep in post-op again." He explained. His hand moved to his chest, investigating the bandages. "Ah." He looked from Henry to Radar. "Can I trouble either one of you gentlemen for an explanation?" Nurse Banks was checking his temperature and blood pressure. Hawkeye looked over at her. "And we haven't even had a date yet." He mumbled.  
  
Henry hesitated before replying. "What's the last thing you remember, Pierce."  
  
Hawk frowned. "Going to the mess tent." He answered. "What happened?"  
  
"You were shot!" Radar blurted out. "By Major Burns!" Henry glared at Radar, then looked down at Hawkeye who was looking very thoughtful and serious.  
  
But when he answered, it was to say. "Really? Did I not salute the flag fast enough for him or something?"  
  
"It was an accident." Henry said.  
  
"I figured." Hawkeye closed his eyes. "I'm really tired." He mumbled. "Wha'd you give me, anyway."  
  
"Nothing out of the ordinary." Henry said.  
  
Suddenly Hawkeye's eyes snapped open. "Where's Trapper, is he alright?" he asked, urgently.  
  
"He's fine. He's ."  
  
"He got drunk and passed out." Radar interjected.  
  
Hawkeye started to laugh but winced in pain and quickly stopped. "I'm so proud of him." He closed his eyes again and seemed to drift off.  
  
"Get some rest, son." Henry said gently. "We were all worried about you." There was no response, and he left quietly.  
  
Radar remained for a moment. "I don't know what would have happened if you'd died Hawkeye." He whispered. "I'm real glad you're going to be ok."  
  
"Thanks, kid. So am I." Hawkeye said, without opening his eyes.  
  
Henry found himself walking round to the Swamp to visit the next unconscious doctor. He was rather surprised, therefore to find that Trapper was upright, if not perhaps awake, and drinking coffee. Father Mulcahy was with him. Both of them looked up as their commanding officer came in.  
  
"Good morning Colonel." The chaplain said.  
  
"Morning Father, Captain."  
  
"Ughhh." Trapper replied, which Henry rightly translated as "Good Morning."  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
"Like someone's been using my head as a bowling ball, then deep fried my mouth." Trapper managed to say. "Did I hit him?"  
  
"Frank? Yeah, you got him. He went down like a sack of potatoes." Henry answered, then, seeing Father Mulcahy's expression added. "I mean, that was a very stupid thing to do McIntyre."  
  
"It was understandable, but still wrong, my son." Father Mulcahy added.  
  
Trapper nodded insincerely, then clutched his head. "Aaarghh" he explained.  
  
He swallowed and squinted over at Henry. "How's Hawk doing?"  
  
"He's fine. He was asking about you."  
  
"He's awake?"  
  
"Yes, or he was ten minutes ago .. McIntyre!" But with a turn of speed that belied his hangover, Trapper had run out of the Swamp towards the post op.  
  
Henry turned to look at Father Mulcahy. "I don't know what he'd do without Hawkeye."  
  
"I don't know what any of us would have done."  
  
There was a pause while they both thought about how awful it could have been. which The Chaplain broke the silence by saying, "He went down like a sack of potatoes?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Good. Um, I mean, well I didn't mean that."  
  
Trapper, burst into post op and collided with Nurse Cutler. For once, he wasn't delighted to have his hands full of woman, and he quickly brushed past her. She rolled her eyes indulgently, understanding his haste. He skidded to a halt beside Hawkeye's bed.  
  
"He's asleep." He said, disappointedly to Major Houlihan who was checking the chart.  
  
"With those observational powers, you're wasted in the army; you should be a detective." Hawkeye said.  
  
Trapper stared at him. "You're awake?" he said, stupidly.  
  
"I don't think anyone could sleep through the noise you're making."  
  
"Your eyes are closed."  
  
"That explains why it's so dark." Hawk opened his eyes slowly. Trapper hugged him, then immediately jumped back.  
  
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked anxiously.  
  
"No." Hawkeye looked at Trapper, frowning, noticing the shadows under his eyes and the general green colour of his skin. "You look worse than I feel." He observed.  
  
Trapper flushed slightly. "How do you feel?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.  
  
"Lousy. Like the Yankees have been using me for batting practice. Can I see my chart?"  
  
Trapper frowned. "Patients aren't supposed to ask that you know."  
  
"How else am I going to find out what you did to me?" Hawkeye was grinning.  
  
"I'll tell you later, buddy. When I'm not feeling so sick."  
  
"Alright." Hawkeye shifted slightly. "You'd think that the army could supply more comfortable beds. Must be so that the patients don't get the urge to stick around."  
  
"Yeah." Trapper stood still for a moment, then looked at Margaret, who for once took a hint. She smiled at Hawkeye, said  
  
"I'm glad you're alright Pierce." And moved to a discreet distance.  
  
Trapper carefully sat down on the edge of Hawkeye's bed.  
  
"What's up?" Hawkeye asked, seeing that his friend was entirely serious.  
  
"Lots of things .." Trapper took a deep breath, and without looking at the man in the bed said, softly "Hawk, I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life as I have been this last day. When I saw you falling, when I saw the blood on your shirt . it was like time stopped. I need to tell you how much you mean to me, because I was so worried that it would be too late. You're my best friend. More than that, you're my brother. I want to thank you for always being there, always saying the right thing. I ."  
  
Trapper was stopped, when a hand gripped his arm. "It's alright Trap. I'm alright."  
  
"I know. It's just ." He couldn't speak; the lump in his throat was too large. Looking at Hawkeye he saw tears in his friend's eyes.  
  
"I feel the same way, believe me."  
  
The two men stayed in silence for a long while, each feeling entirely relaxed, comfortable and safe as long as the other was there.  
  
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Maybe I should have put an extreme mush warning on this. By the way, not to be read as slash. Well, you can if you really like, but that's as far as it's going to go anyway. I like Hawkeye and Trapper as friends.  
  
Sorry about the slow updating, I'm concentrating on a Pirates of the Caribbean fic at the moment. Hey, go read it. Its good . well, long anyway.  
  
Please review. 


	6. Chapter 6

I apologise for the delay in getting this chapter done. My thanks to anyone who may still be reading it.  
  
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Time passed. General Clayton sent in a team of investigators with the stated intention of finding out what had happened and whose fault it was. They were headed by a Lieutenant Dawson and tailed by a Major Martin. They seemed to be of the opinion that everyone in the camp was as guilty as hell and the only task remaining to them was to find out what they had done.  
  
They questioned everyone several times, mostly by shouting and making strange insinuations and threats. Radar took to hiding in the showers whenever they were around. Matters were further complicated when a second group appeared to investigate reports of strange telegrams being sent to the president. After a lot of quick talking over many martinis however, Trapper got them to declare it an act of god and they left, confused but satisfied.  
  
The group investigating the shooting were harder to deal with. Most of all they wanted to interview Frank and Hawkeye, but Frank wasn't talking to anyone and Trapper wouldn't let them anywhere near Hawk. He was slow to recover fully. Talking for any length of time exhausted him and he was on a strict - and decidedly unwelcome - regime of no booze, no poker and no nurses. And definitely, no probing interviews. Eventually, possibly feeling that they had spent far too much time on this, they left. The report came back saying that Major Burns was guilty of negligence and was demoted to captain but would remain at the 4077. There was outrage.  
  
"How can they do that?" Trapper demanded angrily in the post op ward.  
  
"Mcintyre, keep your voice down in front of the patients" hissed Henry.  
  
Trapper ignored him. "Negligence is forgetting to wind your watch, not shooting someone. They demoted him? What does that mean? He should have been discharged at least."  
  
"Sent home?" Hawkeye was the only one at all amused. "You think he should be rewarded for shooting me."  
  
"The army thinks of it as a punishment." Trapper was calmer, looking down at his friend.  
  
"Yeah, wouldn't want to get out of this lovely war." Hawkeye looked enquiringly and hopefully at Henry.  
  
He shook his head slowly. "Sorry Pierce, you'll be staying here with us."  
  
There was a pause. Hawkeye closed his eyes; he really had been hoping that he'd get sent home. "Well, at least I'm in hell in good company," he said finally.  
  
"Right buddy," Trapper put his hand on Hawk's arm gently. "Try and get some rest, huh?"  
  
"I've been doing nothing but resting. If this keeps up I'm thinking of trying out for the Olympic napping team." Despite the complaining tone his eyes soon closed.  
  
Henry and Trapper moved quietly away. Trapper was still angry. "It isn't right. Frank could have killed Hawk and now they're supposed to work together again as if nothing's happened? Now we're supposed to work with him?"  
  
"Get used to it. There's nothing we can do."  
  
Trapper didn't bother answering.  
  
Frank returned to duty. He didn't talk to anyone except with regard to medical matters. And, without any discussion or agreement, no-one talked to him. At all. Ever.  
  
Radar, as subtly as possible, avoided him, leaving the room as soon as he came in and walking the other way if he saw him coming in the compound.  
  
Klinger had been almost as outraged as Trapper on the news that Frank wasn't going to be punished (because no-one saw losing rank as a real punishment) for shooting Hawkeye and loudly made sarcastic comments within Frank's hearing, but wouldn't say one word to his face. Oddly, Frank never complained or even suggested pressing charges.  
  
Henry would talk to him during surgery and on administrative matters, but apart from that avoided him as much as Radar did.  
  
Father Mulcahy would have ended the silence if he could, but found himself entirely unable to think of a single thing to say to the man.  
  
Even Margaret Houlihan wouldn't talk to her old lover. She couldn't believe how stupid and incompetent he had proved himself to be. She would have loved to deliver a crushing snub if he had knocked on her tent, and so was almost disappointed when he did not.  
  
Trapper managed to completely ignore the fact that the Ferret-Faced one existed. No mean feat considering that they lived and worked in the same places.  
  
Frank himself went around like a zombie. He worked in OR as normal - actually he seemed to do a better job than he ever had before - but apart from his shifts he hardly seemed aware that he existed at all. It was doubtful that he even noticed that he was being ignored by everyone.  
  
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Short chapter, but its more of a bridge than anything else. Please review. 


	7. Chapter 7

_OK......I had a dream where Hawkeye was yelling at me to finish this story. That doesn't make me crazy, right?_

_If anyone's still reading this then I'd like to offer a blanket apology. resists temptation to offer blanket invitation to unknown and possibly scary readers_

_Thank you to all those wonderful people who have reviewed. And anyone who may be waiting for a chapter of Blood Rising I'm working on it. Honestly._

Frank was tired. Once again he lay on his cot, staring at the darkness, trying desperately not to fall asleep. It had been a long, long time since he'd been able to sleep without the nightmares coming; the ones where Hawkeye looked at him accusingly, the blood soaking through the khaki shirt; the ones where he stood in OR trying to operate on four men at once with more of them being brought in all the time, while the others – Henry, Trapper, Margaret, Radar – everyone stood there, staring at him, until they whispered the one word that woke him up in a cold sweat, biting his tongue to keep from screaming. Murderer.

All the casualties looked like Hawkeye. He'd come to realise that slowly. The first time he'd looked down at a patient's face (Private Jan Petersen, marine, chest wound with fragments close to the lung) and seen a different man bleeding in his care, he'd stepped away from the table, frightened beyond belief. McIntyre had looked over at him, the contempt obvious in his gaze but hadn't said anything. Colonel Blake had yelled at him to get back to work. Margaret hadn't even glance up from assisting the Colonel. He had. There was nothing else he could do. The man was bleeding; he had to be helped even if he did look like Hawkeye. Especially if he looked like Hawkeye.

He couldn't help but wonder if this was how Pierce felt all the time. If every single case was personal to him, not random casualties of war, but people who might well be someone he knew, might well be a friend. How could anyone live feeling like this?

Friends. They'd never been friends. Pierce was annoying, arrogant and undisciplined, he didn't deserve to be in the United States army. But Frank had seen him, giving everything to save a patient, like that open heart massage case. Hawkeye went further than he would ever think of going. And there had been times, when things were really bad – when he'd gone out looking for that sniper, or Margaret had broke their affair off that time – that Hawkeye had been nice to him, had treated him with the same humorous compassion that everyone else got. He always wished that those times, those moods could last longer. But then something would happen and he'd be back to calling them degenerates, as they made fun of him.

Because it was never just Pierce, it was always Pierce and McIntyre and now it was just McIntyre and everything was wrong. He wanted to apologise to both of them, wanted them to see that he really meant it; but Hawkeye was lying in the ward and Frank couldn't stand the thought of talking to him, of seeing the accusation in his eyes; and Trapper looked at him as though Frank had tried to murder his best friend.

So he hadn't been sleeping and he hadn't been talking to any of the people who weren't talking to him, not because he hated them, but because he couldn't look them in the eyes. And in the permanent silence he heard a single gunshot and saw a blood-stained figure falling.

"Attention, all shifts report to OR, we've got wounded arriving by ambulance and chopper on the upper pad." The tannoy disturbed his fitful wakefulness. He got up immediately and pulled his boots on. McIntyre moving around on the other side of the tent but he carefully didn't look over. Instead he headed over to OR got scrubbed up and got to work immediately.

The patients were carried in, he operated diligently and quickly and they were taken away to post-op. He didn't speak except to ask for instruments, didn't complain when Radar put some drivel on the radio, or even when Henry began singing along absent-mindedly.

"How many have we got outside?" he heard Trapper ask Klinger.

"Too many." was the answer.

"Haven't had a deluge like this since . . . "Henry didn't finish the sentence. People seemed to avoid looking at Frank even harder than usual.

"Yeah. What comes of being short-handed." McIntyre said loudly.

Once again Frank heard the shot and he had to close his eyes tight for a moment to stop the tears from falling. Not that he was crying, he told himself, he wouldn't shed any tears because he felt sorry for himself, certainly not because he missed the more friendly antagonism of the past and most definitely not because he missed Hawkeye, and hated himself for being the one to hurt that degenerate.

The operating continued. By midnight the next day there was only a handful of non-critical patients left. Frank could barely stand at this point, he hadn't been able to sleep during the few breaks he had taken and the only thing keeping him even vaguely upright was the incredible volume of bad coffee he had drunk.

As he looked round for another patient the Colonel glanced over to him. "Stand down Burns, before you fall down."

"There's still more patients outside." He answered stupidly.

"Nothing we can't handle. Get out of here, will ya?"

He wandered off, feeling rejected, wondering if the others didn't even think he was capable of doing his job anymore. Standing outside the door of the swamp he hesitated, afraid of going inside. Sleep still seemed impossible, and frightening, and when McIntyre wasn't there the tent seemed darker and the memories more intimidating. More coffee, that was the answer. He could stay awake for a bit longer, until McIntyre had gone to bed, then he could sneak in and get some sleep himself.

The decision made, he strode over to the mess tent. It was dark, everyone was either helping in OR or asleep. For some reason, as he moved to get a cup of coffee, he didn't bother to turn on the light either.

"Hello Frank." a voice suddenly spoke out of the darkness.

_This story will be continued soon, I promise. Be very interested to hear your reactions to this one. That means review. Pretty, pretty, pretty please?_


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